


In the Shadow of Your Heart

by cosmicenergy



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, artist!ethan, colorblind!luke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicenergy/pseuds/cosmicenergy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Falling in love, Ethan learned, was like falling asleep. It happens slowly, then all at once.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Song title from <i>Cosmic Love</i> by Florence + The Machine</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadow of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crystallines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallines/gifts).



> Dedicated to [Jes](http://ethanakamura.tumblr.com/), thanks for always being my go-to lukethan pal. Also a big thanks to [Maya](http://zoenightstars.tumblr.com/) for being an awesome beta, you're the best.

April was a dull month.

Filled with allergies and bugs and lots and lots of rain, Ethan couldn’t find a single reason to like it. The entire city seemed to slow down, as if it were waiting for that one warm, bright spring day to come back to life again.

But in New York City, that day never really seemed to appear..

So Ethan and everyone else was stuck with it. Stuck putting up with the seemingly endless amounts of torrential rain and fog that had a knack for draining whatever liveliness the city seemed to have left.

It rained and rained for the first three days of April, and Ethan made no move to leave his apartment. Instead, he simply sketched by the light of his small desklamp and flashes of lightning that shone in from outside his window.

-

The next morning was no different. He awoke to the sound of pouring rain and thunder still crashing down on his apartment building. Peering out the window, through the streams of water trickling down the glass pane, he saw puddles forming in every crack and crevice the road had to offer, each one reflecting back at him flashes of light that beamed down from the sky above.

“April showers bring May flowers”, he grumbled, repeating the old saying to himself. His voice echoed around the empty apartment, bouncing off the walls and floating high up through the loft’s ceilings. The apartment was always cold, no matter what season the city was in.

(Ethan often noticed how the sound of his voice appeared to mimic the apartment: cold, empty, and lonely.)

Eventually, he drew himself out of bed, the dreary weather doing nothing to benefit his terrible mood. He glanced in the mirror as he walked into the bathroom, taking in the sight of his appearance.

Ethan had never enjoyed the way he looked. His hair was always unruly; a black mop that never seemed to do what it was told (not that Ethan really tried). His face was, well, average. Nothing too exceptionally beautiful or out of the ordinary, except for one thing.

His eyes.

But he couldn’t really tell what color they were. They seemed to shift as the days passed by, appearing darker on days when the weather was bad and looking brighter when the weather was good. They seemed to shift from blues to greens to browns to somewhere in the middle and Ethan _loved_ them. He loved how the colors seemed to emit how he was feeling, conveying his thoughts and emotions without needing any words to be spoken.

He loved how the colors seemed to swirl together on good days; mixing and melding to create new colors, ones that shouldn’t have the possibility to exist and yet here they were.

Ethan loved colors, so naturally, Ethan loved his eyes.

He guessed that was why he loved art so much. Art _was_ color, essentially.

And color was what made Ethan happy, made him feel more alive and less alone in his empty apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. So even when things got bad, when the weather tried to bring him down or when school was simply too much, he could return home to color and vibrance and _life_ , and in those moments he would know that everything would be okay.

-

The rain was still pouring down as Ethan left his apartment, clad with his sketchbook in one hand and backpack slung his shoulder. His footsteps pounded away at the pavement as he felt the raindrops seeping through the back of his jacket and onto his neck, sending chills up his spine with every step he took.

 _Why didn’t I think to take a cab?_ He wondered, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of relief from the rain. There was nothing in sight, so he trudged on.

Block after block, turn after turn, all Ethan could see was darkness. Shops were closed and streetlamps flickered on and off, casting eerie shadows that could be seen through the thick rain.

Ethan guessed this is what he got for waking up at such an early hour.

But finally, Ethan saw a light at the end of the road. It was faint; barely visible through all the rain and flashes of lightning, but nonetheless it was his best shot at getting a roof over his head.

So he ran.

-

The building turned out to be a coffee shop, one that was small and smelled like freshly baked cookies and coffee grinds. Flowers decorated nearly every table (Ethan fought the urge to sneeze when he saw them) and old photographs lined the walls. They seemed to bring the shop to life, each telling their own unique story to whoever gazed upon them.

Ethan let out a deep breath as he closed the door behind him and stepped inside. The small shop bell rang out, alerting the barista that was napping on a stool behind the counter.

He jolted up in surprise, quickly looking towards the door. Ethan looked away almost shamefully, pointedly looking at anything other than the worker staring over at him.

Ethan decided that he would have to make eye contact at some point, so he cautiously looked up and instantly felt his eyes being drawn to the barista.

The man was striking, Ethan could give him that. His hair was a bright blond and his face sported a pair of light blue eyes and a scar than ran from the tip of his forehead all the way down the rest of his face. Ethan pretended not to notice the muscles that stretched out from the beneath edges of his t-shirt sleeves.

 _Forget it_ , Ethan thought. _He’s not just striking, he’s fucking gorgeous_.

“So,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at Ethan’s appearance. “I guess it’s safe to say you got stuck in the rain?”

“No shit,” Ethan deadpanned, refraining from rolling his eyes. The worker smirked, and Ethan refused to acknowledge that it seemed to make him look even more stunning than he already was.

 _Attractive motherfucker_ , he thought to himself.

“So what can I get for you today?” The barista continued, letting out a laugh at what Ethan presumed was the less than desirable state of his outfit. “Coffee? Maybe a towel?”

“A towel would be great,” Ethan said.

“You got it,” was the last thing he said before he turned and walked towards the back room. Ethan watched him go and pretended not to notice how his back muscles could be seen through his shirt and just how goddamn handsome they made him look. Instead, Ethan focused on the menu (or so he told himself).

The blond had returned a few moments later, jaring Ethan from his thoughts.

“Here’s the towel,” He said, his voice bouncing off the walls of the tiny cafe.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Ethan replied as he moved to grab the towel out of the man’s outstretched hand, ignoring the fact that he was slightly disappointed when their hands didn’t touch.

“Do you want to order anything?” The barista asked.

Ethan glanced up at the menu for a second before asking for a simple cup of coffee.

“And what’s your name?” He asked, cup in hand.

Ethan cocked an eyebrow in response. “There is literally not a single other soul in this shop aside from you and me.”

He laughed. “It’s store policy. Plus, I prefer to know the names of people I’m talking to.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Ethan gave the man his name. “And who are you?” He asked,  no nametag in sight.

“I’m Luke.”

-

Ethan quickly discovered that Luke had two main talents. One being that he made a mean cup of coffee, while the other was that he managed to make Ethan’s insides turn to jelly.

In reality, Luke shouldn’t have had this much of effect on him. He shouldn’t find him this interesting, he shouldn't be entranced by the way his muscles moved, and how Luke seemed to know just what to say and when to say it. Yet for some ungodly reason, he did. From the moment Luke turned around with Ethan’s drink in his hand, Ethan knew he was _fucked_.

“So how much do I owe you?” Ethan asked after graciously accepting the cup of coffee.

“This one’s on me,” Luke responded. “For keeping me company at 5 o’clock in the morning.”

“Shit,” Ethan said aloud. “I hadn’t realized that it was this early.”

“You're welcome to take a nap or something if you need one,” Luke said, gesturing to the couches in the back of the room. “Nobody really starts showing up until 7 or so.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I have a shit ton of work to do, anyway.”

Luke shot a confused look at the sketchpad tucked under Ethan’s arm. Ethan’s eyes tracked his gaze.

“I’m an undercover cop and this is part of my disguise,” Ethan said and Luke’s eyes widened.

“I’m kidding, I’m actually an artist,” Ethan laughed, watching the shocked look melt off Luke’s face.

“Oh thank god,” Luke groaned. “I never would have been able to explain this one to my boss.”

-

For some reason, Ethan found himself staying in the coffee shop long after his cup ran dry.

He watched as the clock ticked and ticked until 8 A.M. was right around the corner. The storm clouds were dispersing outside and from his position curled up on one of the couches, he could see New York city coming to life. He should have left then, and he would have left, if not for the barista who was still on shift.

 _Look at me_ , Ethan thought, glancing up from his sketchbook. _I’m turning into a lovesick fool over a man I just met a few hours ago._

Ethan could see Luke from where he was sitting, the blond’s smirk prominent, even from all the way across the shop.

 _That attractive bastard_ , Ethan thought, turning back towards his sketchbook. He had been sketching daffodils. Their yellow petals appeared to flow softly over the page, falling and falling until they piled up at the bottom in a large stack.

Ethan groaned. Something about it was off, the colors didn't flow right, the lines were all wrong. Angrily, he flipped the page over so a new blank one was staring back at him.

Without thinking, he began to draw. Curve after curve, lines and shapes seemed to flow from the tip of his pencil as he etched his design across the canvas. His pencil finally came to a stop when the edge of the paper was reached, final petal coming to a close.

He let out a gasp of amazement.

It wasn't that this picture was spectacular, no it was in fact the opposite. The flower petals looked average and the shading was something that needed improvement, but what really stuck out to Ethan was the person he had sketched in the background.

Their calloused hands wrapped around the flower stems, holding them in such a way it appeared as though they were reaching out to hand them to Ethan. Though the person’s face was shadowed by the petals, Ethan could see the outline of a scar streaking across their face.

_Luke._

Ethan felt his hands tremble as he quickly slammed the sketchbook shut, looking around to see if anyone had noticed his change in behavior.

Luckily, nobody seemed to take note of the lone artist in the back of the cafe (except the barista, who Ethan hadn't noticed had been sneaking glances in his direction whenever the steady flow of customers fell into a lull).

Ethan let out a sigh and glanced at the clock. Its hands had moved quite a bit since he first arrived, now displaying the reasonable hour of 8:05 am. His first class started in less than a half hour.

 _Fuck_ , Ethan thought, making his way to the door of the cafe. _I didn’t even get to finish a decent sketch_. Just as he reached it, he heard a voice call out from behind him, sending his thoughts astray.

“See you tomorrow, Ethan!” The voice called out. _Luke_.

Ethan turned to see the barista smiling over the line of customers that stretched between them.

Ethan smiled slightly and gave Luke a small wave before closing the shop door behind him. Outside, the sun casted down shimmering rays of golden light, reflecting off against the wet pavement. The ground seemed to shimmer in shades of gray and black, a startling contrast from the otherwise bleak road.

Ethan pulled his hoodie tighter around him and smiled again, though not a single other soul paid attention to his uncharacteristic happiness.

-

It was April 5th and the storm had returned once again, drenching New York City and all of the people that lived within it. Unfortunately, Ethan was no exception.

It had been raining way too often for his liking. It happened every year like this, so he wasn’t sure why every time he was still surprised when he walked out of his apartment to find raindrops hurtling down at him from the sky.

(But this year, he found himself wanting to escape the rain and hide in the tiny coffee shop a few blocks away.)

So he did just that, running block after block, only stopping when he saw the faint glow of the cafe appear at the end of the road. He was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the building’s doors, and without hesitation, he stepped inside.

The warm glow of the cafe greeted him like an old friend, with it’s familiar arms outstretched to engulf Ethan in a warm, safe hug. Today, the cafe smelled like vanilla, the scent wafting through the air and into Ethan’s nose as soon as the door closed behind him.

“Morning!” He heard Luke say, his voice flowing softly throughout the empty cafe.

Ethan smiled. It felt like he was greeting someone he had known for ages, not just someone who he had met for the first time a day earlier.

“Good morning,” Ethan replied as Luke turned around. Luke’s face split into a grin when he saw the state of Ethan’s outfit, and Ethan groaned.

“One towel coming right up,” Luke winked and Ethan put his head in his hands, denying the heat he felt rise up in his cheeks.

“Thanks, mother nature,” Ethan complained as Luke appeared out of the back room. Luke laughed as he handed Ethan the towel.

“You bastard, this isn’t funny!” Ethan said, only making Luke laugh harder.

“Have you ever heard of an umbrella?” Luke asked causing Ethan to pout. “I’m kidding. Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

“How do you know I want something to drink?” Ethan asked when Luke’s laughter finally died down.

“I don’t,” replied Luke. “But it’s kind of my job to ask you that.”

Ethan rolled his eyes and clutched his sketchbook a little bit tighter. “Right. Surprise me, I guess.”

“You got it,” Luke smiled. “Go take a seat, I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”

Ethan retreated to the sofa in the back of the cafe; the soft, woven fabric looking more inviting by

the second. He let out a deep breath, something he found himself doing more often than not lately, before pulling out his sketchbook.

To his own surprise, he had managed to finish his daffodil sketch the night before, staying up utill the early morning hours touching up lines and erasing unwanted markings. Now, all that was left was to add _color_.

Finally, working on these damn flowers could bring him some enjoyment. So he quickly took out his colored pencils, something he found himself never leaving home without. These days, he felt as though he were carrying around an entire art studio in his backpack with all the time he was drawing away from home.

Though, surrounded by the warmth of the cafe and the friendly atmosphere, Ethan couldn’t say he was complaining in the slightest.

In a matter of seconds, his table had become cluttered with colored pencils. The lightest shades of red mixed with the darkest shades of blue while the shades of yellow and green and purple and any color in between seemed to flow in the middle, all creating a work of art in itself.

Ethan was busy comparing two shades of yellow when he felt a gentle hand tap his shoulder. He turned ever so slightly to see the blonde boy come into view, and he cracked a smile.

“Here’s your drink,” Luke said, moving aside some colored pencils to make way for the white drink that was in his hand.

Loaded with whip cream and a cherry on top, Luke stood proudly to the side as Ethan took the first sip.

It was sweet and tasted like vanilla and chocolate chip cookies, something Ethan could distinctly remember his childhood being filled with. He remembered eating chocolate chip cookies with his cousins in the early hours of morning before their parents awoke, and eating vanilla birthday cake with his mother and father.

But mostly, it reminded him of _home_ , something he hadn’t thought about in many years.

He cast his gaze back over to Luke; the slightly nervous look on his face made Ethan crack another smile.

“This is great!” Ethan said, and watched a relieved expression across Luke’s face. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” was Luke’s only reply, and if he was this nice to every customer, Ethan was surprised the coffee shop was still in business.

“I need to pay you _something_.”

Luke simply shook his head. “Well, if you _must_ , I guess you could repay me by showing me your drawing.”

Ethan shrugged. If this got him free coffee every morning, then showing Luke a rough draft of some flowers was no big deal.

“They’re pretty basic as of right now,” Ethan started, sliding his sketchbook over to luke. He watched Luke’s hands grip the paper’s edges, a wondrous look splattered across his face.

“You drew this?” He asked, his slightly amazed tone projecting itself at Ethan.

Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, ignoring the evident blush that spread across his cheeks. “Well, yeah. I mean this is kind of my job, after all.”

Luke looked over at Ethan with wide eyes, then back to the sketchpad in his hands. Ethan could practically see the wonder in his eyes.

“If you want you could help me pick which shade of yellow to use,” Ethan offered, holding out a few different colored pencils in Luke’s direction.

In that moment, Luke’s smile seemed to shift. The corners of his mouth tilted downward and something seemed to cast itself over his gaze. He looked down, away from Ethan’s outstretched hands and away from the book in his hands. Ethan noticed his hands beginning to shake; ever so slightly that if Ethan wasn’t hyper-aware of Luke’s movements he probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

“I can’t,” his said, voice sounding distant.  He sounded broken, like a part of him had just been lost with no ability to ever recover it.

“I wish I could but I just _can’t_.”

“Luke?”

“I’m colorblind, Ethan. I can’t see colors.”

They locked eyes and Ethan finally, _finally_ understood.

Luke couldn’t see the color of his own hair or his own eyes or the clothes he was wearing. Everything was stuck in shades of black and white and grey, _forever_.

He realized that Luke couldn’t see the color of Ethan’s eyes. He couldn’t appreciate how the colors seemed to morph and meld as they pleased.

“Luke,” Ethan began, words fumbling out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

And just like that, the look vanished from Luke’s face. All traces of sadness dispersed, looks of longing elusive like the dissipating storm clouds.

“It’s fine,” Luke chucked, setting the sketchbook down on the table. “It’s not like I ever knew what colors looked like, anyway.”

“Never?” Ethan gasped.

“ _Never_.”

-

Their conversation got Ethan thinking.

_Maybe art didn’t have to use color._

-

The morning of April 6th arrived unwelcome.

Drained from the previous night, Ethan let out a yawn as he detached himself from the comforting embrace of his blankets. Cool air flowed through his apartment, nipping at the tips of his toes and the edges of his fingers. The world was still dark outside his window, kept in a peaceful slumber until daylight decided to show its face.

Ethan preferred the world like this. He found it was easier focus his thoughts in the silence, and things seemed to just make more sense without the overbearing opinions of the rest of the world weighing down his shoulders.

As time had passed, darkness had become a friend, one that Ethan was very grateful for.

Alas, the darkness never stayed for long. Their meetings were always short; interrupted by the beams of sunlight that broke through the horizon, bringing noise and chaos and life back into the city. But Ethan was still grateful for the fleeting moments of peace in the early hours of morning that helped him make some sense of the world.

Though his attempts were futile, since the world was simply a thing that prided itself in remaining a secret.

(Maybe, just _maybe_ , Ethan and the world had more in common than he had originally thought.)

The darkest hours of night, though arguably the most confusing by the average person’s standards, filled Ethan’s brain with more inspiration that should have been possible. Ethan found that he created some of his best works when the only light came from his small desk lamp and the stars that shone brightly outside his window.

He had painted for hours before he passed out on his bed, still remaining in the clothes he donned the day before. Throughout his flurry of late-night activity, Ethan forgot how many things he had drawn.

As he rose, his eyes scanned the disaster that was his desk. One piece jumped out at him, looking nothing like the rest. It was painted with a mixture of yellows and whites and pinks.

 _The daffodils_ , Ethan thought. _I can’t believe I actually finished it._

His gaze continued to move, shifting from the yellow painting to the pages and pages of sketches that littered his desk. Some, he had noticed, had even fallen on the floor in what Ethan assumed was his march from his desk over to his bed.

With closer inspection, they all resembled a person that dawned a scar across their face and lightly tousled hair and a very muscular back.

 _Luke_.

Ethan put his head in his hands and groaned. _This was getting out of hand_.

Deciding he needed to get some fresh air, Ethan threw on a sweatshirt before leaving his apartment, not bothering to bring anything but his sketchbook and a pencil.

-

Walking aimlessly throughout New York was something Ethan found himself frequently doing. Today, there was not a single drop of rain in sight, so Ethan strolled down the empty streets at a leisurely pace, relishing in the silence that normally never fell over the city.

Yet something felt _different_.

As he turned the corner _it clicked_ . There was no light at the end of the street, no distinct smells wafting down the alley. Everything was _dark_.

But he kept walking, and walking, and walking for what seemed like forever until he stopping in front of a closed cafe.

The Barista’s cafe.

 _Luke’s_ cafe.

“I didn’t know they closed on Wednesdays,” Ethan thought aloud, reaching out to grip the paper hanging from the shop’s window.

The silence of the alley was his only response.

-

The rest of the day passed by in a timeless blur, hours progressing so rapidly that it was night again before Ethan knew it.

-

April 7th arrived, and the 8th arrived just as quickly. Both mornings Ethan had woken up and looked out to see the sky covered with clouds once more. Yet, almost dutifully, he had dressed himself and headed out to the quiet coffee shop.

On both days Luke had been there, greeting Ethan with a small smile and a generous wave, as if he was surprised to see that Ethan had returned.

(Ethan often found himself wondering the same thing.)

Those days had been relatively quiet, a peaceful silence filling the air around them. Luke had spent the morning brewing coffee while Ethan had drawn. Every so often, Luke would break the silence to make a comment on Ethan’s progress and every time Ethan would attempt to fight down the smiles that threatened to rise every time he did so.

-

It was on the 9th day of April when Ethan was greeted with a surprise when he walked into the coffee shop. Instead of being greeted with Luke’s smile (the one he had quickly gotten used to seeing every day), he came face to face with a black-haired girl.

 _She’s really pretty_ , were the first thoughts that came to his mind.

“Hello, welcome to Hestia’s Coffeehouse, how may I help you?” She said, and her voice flowed out like spools of smooth silk.

“Good morning,” Ethan responded politely, slightly amazed by the fact that she sound so awake and peppy at such an early hour. “Can I get a small coffee?”

“You got it,” She smiled, but the words didn’t sound quite right when they came from her. “And your name is?”

“Ethan.”

She raised one eyebrow and a slight smirk appeared as the corner of her mouth tilted upward. “Ethan, eh? You don’t happen to know a Luke that works here?”

Ethan could feel the blush rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh, no reason,” She laughed, sounding as if she knew something that Ethan did not. “It’s just that he talks about you _all the time_ .”

Ethan was pretty sure the redness of his face matched the color of the bright red coffee cup she was holding in her hand.

“He does?” Ethan managed to choke out after a moment of silence passed between them.

She laughed again, this time her voice sounded like wind chimes and the breeze that blows through tree leaves on bright summer days.

“Yeah, like I said. He does it all the time.”

“What does he say? Good things? Bad things?” Ethan prompted. “Somewhere inbetween?”

“Relax, Ethan. He literally hasn’t stopped gushing about you, and Luke _never_ talks about anyone.”

Ethan found himself blushing even more (a concept that seemed impossible seconds earlier). “But are you sure they’re good things?”

She put her head in her hands. “You must be the densest person I’ve ever met. Just go sit down and I’ll bring you your coffee when it’s ready.”

After learning her name, Ethan thanked her with as much dignity as he had left before sitting down on the sofa that he was beginning to wish he could take back to his apartment.

What? It was really comfy.

(And it totally, one hundred percent, did not remind him of Luke in any way, shape, or form.)

Ethan quickly discovered that, unlike Luke, Silena was really good at her job. No less than two minutes after Ethan had sat down, she had appeared behind him with a steaming cup of coffee and a look of determination written across her face.

“So,” she began, placing the cup in front of Ethan. Waiting until Ethan had taken his first sip, she then sat down on the couch across from him. “Do you like Luke?”

Ethan nearly choked on his coffee.

 _Am I that easy to read?_ He thought. According to the look of triumph on Silena’s face, he was.

“Damn boy, you got it bad,” she said, laughing at Ethan’s clear dislike of the subject at hand.  Not waiting for a reply, she continued. “Or should I say _like-like_ Luke?”

Ethan covered his face with his hands and groaned.

-

By mid-morning Ethan had confirmed that Silena was a sweetheart; one that happened to be _way_ too invested in his love life.

-

Just as soon as April 9th had passed, April 10th took it’s place with renowned vigour. The sun was shining and the birds seemed to be chirping louder than normal, waking Ethan up at the crack of dawn. He looked over to the digital clock on his nightstand; the time read 7:03 am.

 _Well_ , he thought. _At least I kind of slept in today_.

Though he desperately wanted to fall back to sleep, let the warmth of his bed sheets and comfortable pillows drag him back to dreamland, but there was a possibility of seeing Luke at the coffee shop, so he stayed up.

-

Apparently, it was a greater possibility that Ethan had calculated for, seeing as soon as he walked in the door, Luke shot him a lazy smile from over the counter.

“Hey, Ethan.”

“Morning, Luke,” Ethan said, a smile threatening to materialize across his face.

“Hello, Ethan!” A voice chimed in seconds later, sound echoing out from the back room. Ethan could just make out a mop of long black hair peeking out from behind the doorway, and the voice that came with it sounded extremely familiar.

“Oh, I didn’t know you knew Silena?” Luke chuckled as Silena fluttered out of site, closing the door behind her.

“I didn’t, until yesterday morning that is,” Ethan said, following Luke’s eyes as they traveled from the door back to his face.

Luke cracked a smile. “She can be a handful sometimes, but it’s impossible not to like her.”

Ethan nodded his head in agreement. An easy silence soon fell, filling the cafe with its overbearing presence. In the quiet, Ethan pretended to look at the menu while. gazing anywhere but at the freckles that splattered across Luke’s cheeks. They were painted across the bridge of his nose, all the way to the start of his ears

_Were the cosmos always scattered so delicately across his face?_

As the words stumbled out of his mouth when he was asked what his order was, Ethan made a mental reminder _not_ to look directly at Luke’s face ever again.

(As if that would actually keep him for doing so.)

-

“So let me get this straight. You’ve never seen color, ever?”

Luke groaned and Ethan suppressed a chuckle. “Ethan, we’ve been over this. Being colorblind only has one meaning.”

“I know, I know,” Ethan said, waving his hand towards the assortment of colored pencils strewn across the table. “But I need your help.”

Luke cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m intrigued, what’s up?”

“I’m still having trouble choosing the shade of red I need for my next painting,” Ethan confides, sliding his sketchbook closer towards Luke. A sketched drawing of a sunset decorated the top sheet. “I need every opinion I can get.”

“Ethan, I’m fucking _colorblind_. I don’t even know what red looks like!”

Ethan huffed. “You make a good point.”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Luke retorted, though his insult held no real bite.

“But I think this red would look good,” the blond says, lifting up a pencil.

“Luke, that’s purple.”

“Looks the same to me!”

Ethan rolled his eyes.

“There really is no difference, though. All of these pencils are red and purple and blue and yellow and whatever other fucking color you can come up with. To me, they’re all shades of gray, so it doesn’t matter.” Luke exhaled out a long breath as Ethan stared at him, silence falling over the cafe. Then, as if to say the matter was closed, Luke spun on his heel and moved towards the counter. On instinct, Ethan began to talk.

“Red,” he blurted out, the sudden burst of noise stopping Luke in his tracks.

“Red,” he continued, seeing the other boy’s shoulders become rigid. “Is the color you see when your mouth tastes like metal and your vision tunnels and anger consumes your body. It’s the color you see when fire consumes your soul and every part of your being feels like it’s burning, going to crash and burn right underneath your own two feet.

“And purple, purple’s the color you see in the late days of winter when snow is lightly falling from the sky, melding and mixing with the wind and the lights that twinkle from the streetlamps. It’s the color you see when you finally feel at peace with yourself, and the color you see when the world is calm and cool and collected.”

(Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way.)

“Then there is blue. Blue’s the color that swims through your mind on hot summer days, that trickles down your back in the shower, that falls from the sky when the universe has finally broken down and begun to cry. It’s the color that brings men to their knees, quivering in a mixture of fear and awe at the same time, as they watch the world around them begin to crumble into the sea.

“Yellow’s the color you see when you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. It’s the color that covers your vision when the sun is shining and smiles cover people’s faces and laughter threatens to escape from your soul.”

Luke’s shoulders fell, and Ethan watched them slowly move up and down as he took in another breath.

Inhale, exhale, _repeat_.

-

When the morning of April 11th arrived, Ethan’s first thought was _fuck, I really did sleep in today_.

The blinking red lights on his clock flashed twelve and Ethan groaned, shoving his head back into the pillow.

-

April 12th started out in a similar fashion, only this time, Ethan woke up marginally earlier than the day before.

Stumbling out of bed, he haphazardly shifted his feet around the floor hoping to stumble across his slippers that he threw off his feet the night before. After a minute of searching, Ethan decided his efforts were useless and pushed himself out of bed, feet finally coming into full contact with the cool wooden floor. The cold was unwelcome, sending chills crawling up his spine as if the feeling was caused by hundreds of spiders tip-toeing their way across his back.

Ethan shuddered at the thought, and the spiders seemed to fall off; one by one until the cold was gone and he simply felt nothing at all.

(And that feeling shouldn’t have surprised Ethan in the slightest. But every time, _every single time_ , he felt himself become engulfed in the feeling of nothing, it was in those moments that Ethan knew he held the possibility to feel everything all at once.)

-

April 13th was a Wednesday, and Wednesdays, Ethan had decided, brought boredom.

The coffee shop was closed, so seeing Luke would be out of the picture. So the only thing left to do, aside from the pile of advanced calculus homework he was still putting off, was paint.

And paint, and paint, and paint.

By the end of the day, Ethan had completed his painting of the sunset; the vibrant mixture of yellows, oranges, and reds called out for his attention through the silent apartment. He carefully held the painting up to the window, subconsciously comparing the dreary, gray landscape to the scene delicately layered across the canvas. Ethan shook his head. It would be a long time before he’d be able to see that sunset again.

(But then his mind thought of Luke, of his golden freckles and shining smile, and realized that maybe he wouldn’t have to wait so long after all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2. If you want to come scream at me to write the rest of this, feel free to message me on [tumblr](http://sexualpercy.tumblr.com/).


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